Photo by Liz Lauren
Eleven years ago, Haven Theatre began its productions with John Cameron Mitchell’s acclaimed Hedwig and the Angry Inch. This summer, they are reviving the same show as their final bow with a rather different take on it than I have ever seen before. It still tells the same tale of a young East German boy named Hansel who becomes the sexual plaything of a US officer who then offers to rescue him from East Germany, but at a cost: the only way he can get Hansel across the border is if the gay teenager allows a sex-change operation in order to travel as the officer’s wife, Hedwig.
The best-laid plans go awry, the old saying says, and this is not even close to being among the best-laid plans. Within a year, Hedwig finds herself abandoned in a trailer park, forced to work menial jobs to live, and unable to find real love because she no longer is recognizable as male or female due to a “botched” surgery that left her with nothing down there but an “angry inch” of flesh. After a brief affair with a boy who will, due to her influence and tutelage, become international music star Tommy Gnosis, she forms her own punk band (wanna guess its name?) and stalks him by arranging a tour of her own that plays lesser venues (like restaurants) near the stadiums he is playing in.
In this strong JD Caudill-directed production, Hedwig is played by Tyler Anthony Smith, making their Haven debut (and, I guess, their Haven swan song as well). Smith, with a perfect singing voice for the part, plays Hedwig as an unexploded bomb, always seeming to straddle the line between breaking down in tears and breaking props in anger. Despite some added humor, his is the angriest version of the character I’ve seen, with subtle hints of violence even seeping into pop ballads like “Wig in a Box” (wigs designed by Keith Ryan) and “Wicked Little Town” and absolutely owning numbers like “Tear Me Down” and “Angry Inch.” (Stephen Trask’s songs for this show are always powerful, but Smith and the band seem to have things turned up to eleven…if you don’t mind a reference to another musical about a fictional band on tour in seedy venues.)
Caudill’s direction has heightened the tension between Hedwig and Yitzhak (Ismael Garcia), the backup singer who may well be more talented than Hedwig and is definitely more gender dysphoric. Forbidden by Hedwig from exploring gender identity—no reason is given, but maybe two dysphoric members are one too many for the band?—Yitzhak is at the point where they don’t give a flying fuck about anything anymore, listening only to their own agenda. (Note: if you are offended by “give a flying fuck,” this is definitely the wrong show for you.) The insistent antagonism between the two leads is usually far more subtle than it is here—it’s even possible that some audience members of other productions might miss it, or at least the reason for it, entirely—but Caudill has clearly put it front and center…sometimes literally.
The most notable moment of that comes in “The Origin of Love,” where Caudill, instead of using the iconic original animation I’ve seen in other productions, chooses to stage the story with puppets designed by Lolly Extract of Jabberwocky Marionettes. (This representation of what happens when Zeus violently rips apart the originally dual humans is more visceral than any animation could be.) But “Origin” is far from the only place where the Hedwig/Yitzhak tension erupts, or at least comes close. I wondered at some points if the director might actually have to come on stage to referee a true bout between them, and both Garcia and Smith are more than up for the heated exchanges between their characters.
The band, arranged on a platform centerstage, also has a part to play in this conflict. Mia Park on drums has a kind of playful ongoing bit with Hedwig, but others, like Nate Hall on guitar, Alek Boggio on Bass, and even musical director Harper Caruso on piano, have clearly been instructed to appear fed up with their prima donna lead’s depressions and obsessions. On occasion, they even leave their stations and help to contain the growing tension. It works well; I have found myself in the past wondering if the other band members are just so myopic that they don’t see what is brewing, but that is definitely not the case here.
Another original design item by scenic designer Jonathan Berg-Einhorn is the omnipresence of Hedwig’s trailer and makeup area. The trailer—practical enough for Hedwig to go inside or lie on the roof—would of course not be present during the concert we are allegedly watching, but seeing it is a constant reinforcement (if we need one) of Hedwig’s deplorable emotional state. Occasional eavesdropping on Tommy Gnosis’ ongoing stadium show—done with Liz Cooper’s lights and Jake Sorgen’s sound—is another, and each time allows Hedwig to slip deeper into crisis. (And while I’m handing out kudos, they are also due for choreographer Willy Laqueue, props designer Patrick Maguire, makeup designer Syd Genco, and costume designer Beth Laske-Miller.)
But a couple of criticisms are also due. One element of the set design that didn’t work, at least from my angle, was the projection screen. Having it behind the band may have been a nice idea, but their very presence on a raised stage in front of it makes seeing the Steve Labedz projections rather difficult. I should also mention that, at least from the side, the sound was often rather mushy.
Haven came in with Hedwig and goes out with Hedwig, and if anything the play’s themes—self-discovery, identity, and (of course) love—are even more important today than eleven years ago. Today’s world, fueled by hatred and lack of compassion, is not the same one we had in 2013. Even with the main character’s self-loathing, Hedwig and the Angry Inch confronts those societal evils head-on. The confrontation changes both Hedwig and Yitzhak, and it ends with a plea to “lift up your hands” to celebrate the duality of life and its capacity for healing. Zeus may have violently separated us, but everyone has the potential to find love and self.
Hedwig and the Angry Inch is now playing through Aug 4 at the Den Theatre. The show runs approximately 95 minutes with no intermission. Find more information about current plays in our front page recs and at theatreinchicago.com.